


You Bring The Gods To Their Knees

by lichtuitmixa



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lichtuitmixa/pseuds/lichtuitmixa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prop hammer is replaced by the real mjolnir, and Tom is the only one who can lift it. Hilarities - and great purpose - ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Bring The Gods To Their Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All untrue. All characters belong to Marvel, and all the actors belong to themselves. I don't make any money from this. Originally a fill for a norsekink prompt.

It’s 4 in the morning. Kat and Tom are standing outside her trailer. Neither of them had spoken since Kat handed the Englishman his coffee. 

A few meters across them, the metallic skin of their leading man’s trailer sheens as a passing crewmember swings a flashlight by his hip. 

“So, is this like your personal variation of method acting?” asks Kat, finally breaking the silence. 

Her eyes are gleaming with anticipation. A pearl white neck sticks out from under her blue scarf. Tom purses his lips conspiratorially and briefly glances at her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies coolly. “I’m just saying ‘hello’.”

Before Kat can respond, Chris’s trailer begins to rattle and the lights snap on. Tom takes a long gust of breath just as the beastly holler of a slighted man shatters the peaceful desert dawn. 

“Hiddleston!”

Tom quickly hands his coffee cup to Kat, who is beyond herself in laughter.

“Hold on to that for me, will you, love?” 

Tom is not above flashing his audience a grin of cheeky triumph before bolting. 

The desert is dark and wide, and across the horizon are riveting silhouettes of sand mounds. The end of the sky is starting to purple. It looks entirely like another world to someone who has lived most of his life in damp concrete jungles. 

On the contrary, for someone who is probably used to it, the intimidating breadth and darkness don’t mean much. And that explains why Tom barely gets to the top of the berm in the last stretch of his escape. He feels burly hands pull him back, knocking the wind out of him as he lands face first into the ground. 

“You wily fucker!” 

Chris practically manhandles Tom, the show of staggering strength stunning any attempt Tom might have of wriggling his way free. But Chris still senses the flight risk and he drapes his body like a cage over his catch. 

“Chris,” Tom’s eyes are stinging with tears of laughter and he is so out of breath that he can barely get a word out, never mind fighting back. So, it’s by default that he very lamely tries to push Chris off.

“You’re going to pay for that.” 

The threat comes in a burst of amusement and one ridiculously strong hand that pins both Tom’s wrists above his head. This single gesture derails Tom’s glee abruptly. His heart stops at Chris’s firm touch. Suddenly, he’s gazing soberly at the consequence of his mischief. 

Tom blinks then bursts out laughing again. 

“You’re impossible.” Chris looks almost charmed by the ridicule he’s receiving. 

Tom doesn’t believe the friendly grin and blames the sunrise as it plates Chris’s face golden, rendering it almost too irresistible to behold. 

“There are feathers on your…” sniggers Tom. “Here, let me…”

Tom tries to free his arm so he can show Chris where feathers are sticking between his hair, his ears, on the left of his nose, hanging from the curve of his lashes - but Chris unexpectedly tightens his hold. 

Tom’s brain short circuits and he hopes to god Chris’s angle doesn’t give him the benefit of seeing the blush that splashes wildly across Tom’s cheeks. 

“You’re going to pay for that,” promises Chris again, all jovial and playful, with pillow feathers and morning wrinkles around his eyes. There’s no reason why Tom has to repress a shudder. 

Except.

The earth is cold beneath his back, but Chris is nearly flushed against Tom, trapping him between hard quads. Chris’s breath ghosts over Tom’s cheeks, far too close for dangerous ideas to remain dormant. The most distracting thing is, Chris doesn’t seem to mind. He grins all Cheshire-like, proud to be on top of things for a change.

“Oh yeah?” Tom squirms when he realizes his friend is taking far too long to release him. He grows desperate to unbuckle the bond of Chris’s hand and tame the heat building in his body. “Well, if this is going to be fair game, you need to get off -- ”

Chris doesn’t let him finish, catching Tom by surprise when he releases his hands, only to pin him back down by tickling his side. Hollering and out of breath, Tom jerks the wrong way and lands on something hard and piercing. A rock. 

“Ouch!”

Chris quickly rolls off. The cold desert morning sweeps into the void Chris leaves and hits Tom like a double whammy. 

“Oh, fuck, I think it pinched through my flesh,” 

“Serves you right,” says Chris, but he’s lifting Tom’s shirt almost as soon as he does.

Tom closes his eyes trying not to breathe too deeply or too fast -- trying not to breathe at all as Chris’s fingers outline a small gashing wound at the base of his spine. Chris’s fingers, calloused and warm, drawing faintly on his skin, be-spell curtains around Tom’s reason.

“It’s not going to kill you,” reassures Chris as he turns to face his friend. 

The sun is breaching mountains in the distance behind them when they stand up. Tom can’t help but watch Chris as he turns towards the light, the depths of his eyes reaching far in a memory Tom resigns that he might never know. 

“Elsa packed me that pillow, you know,” murmurs Chris. Tom expects him to look a little more annoyed at the revelation, but Chris looks peaceful. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself,”

“What are you even doing here?”

Tom shrugs. Frankly, he’s not sure he wants to know either. He wants to say he’s keeping in touch - they’re friends after all. He’s a part of all this. But deep in his gut, Tom knows that doesn’t even come halfway to what he really wants. 

Chris looks pointedly at him, his powerful stature no less demanding when he’s in his pajamas, covered in feathers from head to foot. This is all Tom’s going to get for now, apparently: caricatures at best. 

Tom decides to run with that and then -- literally. 

Above their juvenile mischief, above the laughter and reunion, above the human concerns with scaffoldings, costumes and aperture, the gods agitate the sky and drop their own prop in the oblivious midst of a film production. It hits the ground with a lifeless, grunting thud.

-

Everyone swarms Tom before the day's first set, and anybody who didn’t know any better would think they were making a movie about Loki.

Chris doesn’t mind. He’s leaning against the jam of the costume trailer as Sarah the hairdresser applies varnish over his hair extensions. Tom is a short distance away, absorbed in conversation with Jaimie and Kat.

Chris doesn’t notice, but his expression somehow coordinates with Tom’s; Chris can’t help but mirror every grin and laugh that passes the Englishman’s face. But when Jaimie brushes a hand over Tom’s biceps and Tom turns to her with a furtive look in his eyes, something clenches inside Chris and breaks the spell.

“Chris, Sarah,"

Chris turns to see Kenneth striding towards them, headphones hanging around his neck and long cables trailing after him. “We’re starting in 10 minutes. I suggest you take this to the set if there’s more to finish,"

“No. We’re done," Sarah declares as she pushes Chris forward.

“Stunning,”

Tom is suddenly standing next to Kenneth, grinning at Chris. “You look like a lumberjack,"

Chris places his hands on his hips and tilts his head. “A handsome lumberjack," he corrects. For some reason, he’s suddenly very pleased that he has Tom’s attention all to himself again. 

Kenneth regards them like inside jokes are beneath him. He directs Chris, “Eight minutes, and no one can seem to find George so, kindly pick up mjolnir on your way," before turning on Tom and giving him a pat on the back. “Considering the amount of press you’re going to be doing after we wrap up, are you sure you don’t want to spend your free time elsewhere?”

Tom spreads his arms dramatically and feigns disappointment. “What? Have you grown tired of me?"

Kenneth almost rolls his eyes and throws Chris a stern look. “No delays,"

Tom talks all the way to the props bus while Chris quietly walks beside him. He realizes he doesn’t mind the constant jabbering – in fact, he’s almost happy to have it back. If anything, it gives him an excuse to stare, considering Tom in a way that feels slightly... indulgent. But Chris can’t find it in himself to be bothered or to even look away.

Tom looks good: blonde hair back in place and the color in his face a bright delight to see after months of hiding beneath Loki’s pale mask.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?"

Chris blinks.

"I was asking which one you preferred," Tom says, lifting two hammers. 

The difference isn't apparent at first glance and if there is one, it's not like Chris will be able to tell. The props director usually just hands him the lucky hammer on set. 

But on closer inspection, he notices one of them is slightly larger than the other, with a finer polish and visible silver inscriptions on the handle. Chris curiously reaches for it.

"Oh, this one?" Tom holds it up to him. "I like this one too. It's slightly weightier, induces you to project strength a bit more."

Tom doesn't exactly let the prop go, forcing Chris's fingers to brush his when he turns it over. 

Chris's skin pricks. He drops his hands and swallows dryly, "I haven't seen that one before,"

"Must be new then," says Tom thoughtfully. 

If he noticed anything, he doesn't show it and smiles amusedly as he swings the prop like a golf club.

Even in goofing around, Tom exudes a disarming gracefulness. Years of theater have honed his ability to express and beguile with the subtlest of movements. His foot slides smoothly behind him as he stretches his arms and hits an imaginary ball, raising mjolnir to the sky with both arms straight.

The effect on Chris is devastating. He's old enough to realize clearly what this means and with his heart swelling monstrously inside him, he allows himself a lopsided smile of surrender to the doom that befalls him. 

"Chris!" The production assistant is running towards them, her frantic voice jolting them out of their moment. 

Tom laughs heartily as he sprints ahead, Chris catching up as soon as he breaks his reverie. 

"You constantly get me into so much trouble, you know that?" reprimands the taller man.

Tom gives him a sly grin and Chris hurts a little to think Tom doesn't really know how much.

-

Things blow up in the first five minutes they walk on set. As soon as Tom hands Chris the hammer, the Australian falls over and drops head first onto the ground. In the clutter of confusion that follows, Kenneth yells for the props director.

"He just called in. He can't make it," a weary looking assistant nervously explains from the edge.

"It weighs a ton," mutters Chris as he lifts himself. Pain shoots up the side of his arm and he flinches. "Maybe more,"

Tom is looking between him and Kenneth. "Come off it, Chris," he says in disbelief and bends over to pick up the hammer. "It weighs nothing."

Kenneth is visibly annoyed. It's much too early for something like this. He makes the mistake of taking Tom's example and reaches for the hammer, only to be pulled instantly to the earth himself.

"What the bloody fuck!" 

There's a brief moment when everyone looks concerned, but it passes as soon as Tom picks up the hammer again. "Alright, I get it. This is pretty lame. But I give you points for getting Ken in on this."

Both Chris and Ken share a brief look before turning to stare at Tom. Some of the cast and crew are closing in on them.

"Come on, now, what's wrong?" asks Ray. He ends up demonstrating the answer himself when he fishes the hammer out of Tom's hand and suffers the same fate. 

This time, it's far more entertaining considering how large Ray is. Seeing him flabbergasted as he nearly bursts a vein pulling the hammer off the floor is extraordinarily unreal, like watching a cartoon.

"This is hilarious," remarks Tom, except he's not exactly laughing. 

There's a bewildered look in his eyes as strange possibilities fight to surface from behind them. Tom shakily holds the hammer again to prove his point, but he receives no support. Only odd and shocked faces look him up and down. 

"Tom, where did you get that?" Stellan seems stunned, but he's giving Tom a troubling look of consideration. It's one thing to get that look from Chris and Ken. But from Stellan, the matter of it makes Tom's heart skip a beat. 

"At the prop bus. What? Not you too, Stellan.” 

Before anyone can say a thing, the sky dims dramatically. Suddenly, petulant winds begin to howl and the dust stir in the air around them. Thunder rolls and streaks of silver and gold split the skies.

"Shut up," Kat’s mouth falls open with one last remark as everyone else stands speechless beneath the fast swirling clouds. 

A beam of electric light shoots straight into the ground, throwing everyone nearby off their feet.

"Who dared steal mjolnir?!" louder than the winds and the storm, a booming voice materializes out of the dust column. 

You would expect everyone to quickly realize what they were looking at, considering the theme of the film they were working on. But no, it takes a few seconds to reconcile fiction with reality and a few more to accept that Thor, God of Thunder, is taking long, regal stalks towards them. He looks, well. 

He looks like Chris. 

 

"Step forth in contrition, mortals. Who took mine - " the god's blazing blue eyes fall on Tom, who’s still standing on his feet - still holding the hammer in question.

Thor's face contorts in fury. "Loki!" 

Tom's stomach drops when he realizes he's the only person there that the son of Asgard could be referring to.

Thor marches towards him, eyes narrowed as such that Tom almost expects the crackle of lightning above to strike him where he stood. He takes a step back just to hit the full height of Chris standing behind him.

Any form of relief becomes short lived when Thor yanks Tom forward by the arm and Tom promptly drops the hammer. It doesn't seem to make any difference to the god who proceeds to pull Tom to his eye level.

"Wait - "

Chris quickly inserts himself between Tom and Thor, startling everyone involved. Chris audaciously glares at the god, who in turn looks ridiculously surprised.

"Let him go. He's not who you think he is." 

The resemblance is so striking that Tom feels the mindfuck on their behalf. 

Thor is looking between the two of them, like he can't decide which one to smite first. Despite the god's seeming confusion, his viselike grip on Tom continues to pinch the man’s circulation. Tom tries to wriggle free, but it backfires when Thor turns his attention to him completely.

"You are not my brother. I can tell," confirms Thor, voice slipping into a curious murmur, "But if you are no god or trickster then what gave you the power to lift Mjolnir?"

"I -" is just about as articulate as Tom can manage under the circumstances, "I don't know,"

-

"You have never met my brother and yet you mirror him in many ways." Thor swings his hammer around as he circles Tom, looking him up and down. "In the centuries he decides to stay in his Aesir form, he has your built,"

They’re in the cutting room, which has always seemed excessively big for an on-set editing room. Thor redecorated it within seconds of setting foot in it, lifting and throwing aside tables, computers and chairs to make room for his stride. Now there’s a makeshift dais made out of overturned tables at the front wall overlooking an almost empty floor. The room looks even bigger now, yet neither Tom nor Chris notice. 

Tom is too busy following the contemplative god with his eyes, half intrigued, half concerned for his welfare. On the other hand, Chris looks like he doesn’t believe there’s enough room for two of him in the world, never mind this office. 

Kenneth and the producers walk in only to stop and stare at the row of destroyed equipment by the far wall. Tom looks at them helplessly from where he’s standing, his hands flat inside his pockets. Chris is leaning on a chair not far from him, eyes never leaving the Norse god. He looks deeply annoyed. 

“Right,” swallows Kenneth as he walks towards the god. “Excuse me, Thor?”

The god swivels around, his red cape timidly billowing in the small space around him. 

“I’m Kenneth. It’s nice to meet you,” Kenneth lends his hand diplomatically.

Thor, however, prefers to embrace him, clapping him on the shoulders so hard Kenneth’s knees nearly buckle.

“As I do you,”

“I see you’ve retrieved Mjolnir,” Kenneth motions to the gleaming weapon in Thor’s hand. “Is there anything else we can do for you? I don’t know if Tom has mentioned it, but we’re in the middle of making a film about you,”

“Yes, yes he has,” says Thor quickly, glancing at Tom once more with a pleased look on his face. Tom coughs softly into his hand. “And he plays my brother in it with remarkable likeness.”

“How is that by the way?” asks Kenneth, momentarily distracted by the likeness of Thor and Chris. 

“I’m afraid it is as much a mystery to myself as the fact that your colleague here,” Thor points to Tom, “Was able to lift my hammer.”

There’s an awkward moment when Thor doesn’t stop staring at Tom, blue gaze so fond and admiring that everyone feels the need to look away. Except for Chris whose glare only intensifies as a result.

“Intriguing,” says Kenneth uncomfortably. He clears his throat.

“Well, I might be getting ahead of myself here but if everything is in order, I hope you don’t mind extending your visit, albeit not in this, er, fashion,” Kenneth waves his hand around the room. “I was hoping you could meet and talk with the writers and myself, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“Ken,” Chris breaks his silence with no small amount of disagreement in his voice. A reminder of his profession lets him make it sound diplomatic at least, “Do you really think it’s a good idea? What about the attention he’ll draw?”

“I’m sure we can manage to keep it under wraps,” helps one of the producers who looks excited at the prospect. 

“My noble Misgardians,” declares Thor delightfully, “As pleased as I am with your invitation, I do not intend to stay very long. Duties oblige me to leave soon.”

In the wave of disappointment that seems to wash over the rest of the room, Chris alone finds himself taming a smile of satisfaction.

“However, I do intend to stay as long as needed to reward the gracious Mr. Hiddleston for finding Mjolnir and returning it to me,” 

Tom’s and Chris’s jaws fall open simultaneously. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” starts Tom, his face reddening. “I didn’t find, I merely – picked it up.”

Thor hardly hears him as Kenneth and the producers clap triumphantly, unable to resist themselves. 

“Splendid. Tom, will you?” asks Kenneth, nodding at Tom with eyes that needlessly convey how important it is that he said yes. 

Thor turns to Tom and extends his arm towards the Englishman, beckoning. “Will you, Tom, accept my utmost gratitude?” 

If Tom has ever felt a tremendous amount of expectation before, none of it compares to how he feels now. He has always been besotted with adventures, whether they sprung from the literatures he read or the characters he portrayed. And now that what has generally been considered fiction is living and breathing flesh before his very eyes -- who was he to deny himself an encounter with a god?

-

Chris throws the cigarette to the ground as Natalie approaches him.

"Let me guess," says Natalie as she embraces Chris, "Someone dethroned you today."

Chris sighs, grimacing at her words. "What are you doing here? I thought Kenneth sent everyone back to the city for a break."

"He did. And then he called for me, said I might want to meet the God of Thunder if it helped with 'authenticating' Jane." Natalie's laugh is bell-like, voice almost as clear and resonant as Tom's. 

Chris swallows painfully as an image of Tom laughing crosses his mind. He hardly hears Natalie continue speaking. "Problem is, Thor doesn't know any Jane." 

"Of course," Chris doesn't even sound remotely amused. 

Natalie reaches for his arm and he's forced to meet her searching gaze. "But I think he might have found one now," she follows slowly.

Chris stiffens, just sitting on the edge of anger. He knows exactly what Natalie means and he's certain the look on his face doesn't leave him much space to pretend he doesn't. 

"Tom is equally fascinated," he says dryly, unable to hide the raw jealousy and he cringes as it comes flooding out of him. He feels pathetic, but the feeling is insignificant and nearly fleeting next to the anguish of infatuation that seems to grip his consciousness like a vise.

"You shouldn't write him off so quickly. There's a lot more between you and him than any Norse god can match," reassures Natalie, eyes twinkling.

Chris looks wonderingly at her, eyes wide in alarm. Then a small, irritating fear settles in his gut when he realizes Natalie Portman just outed him to himself. "Am I that obvious?"

She grins sympathetically. "Not nearly as obvious as you should be. At least not to one another; you're not obvious when it actually counts." 

A crashing sound inside Chris's trailer and subsequent worrying moans of pain distract them both. 

"Tom?" Natalie guesses correctly, glancing at the curtained window above Chris. 

"He talked Thor out of throwing him an inter-world feast. Now, they're having dinner," says Chris helplessly. Natalie almost looks sorry for him. 

It's nearing dusk and the nightmare of this day grows increasingly more vivid for the Australian actor. The sky is a clear blanket of stars; it's a beautiful evening if not for the excruciating thought of things to come. A burst of light suddenly scatters across the horizon and the telling cheers from the production crew in a distance twist the knife in Chris's side.

"How can I compete with that?" he mourns, forgetting his self entirely as luminous magic reflects sadly under his brow. 

Natalie quells the urge to roll her eyes. Standing on her toes, she leans in and gives Chris a soft peck on the cheek. "Thor may be a god but you should give Tom a bit more credit. As far as I can tell, it's fair game."

-

Tom knots the tie under his neck collar, considers his reflection and hurriedly removes the tie for the umpteenth time. The absurdity of the whole situation hasn't completely dawned him yet. But it's there, fleeting right above his head, briefly grazing his consciousness to remind him he's rifling through costume ties to wear to the dinner with Thor.

Dinner with Thor. Thor, who looks spectacularly like Chris. Thor, God of Thunder, looking at Tom in ways Tom has only longed for Chris to. _Thor_ , Thor. Tom's hands stop three buttons down his shirt to run exasperatedly over his face. He groans loudly.

"I haven't seen you this disoriented since the air-condition failed during the coronation scene." 

Tom nearly jumps out of his skin and steps back a foot to hit his ankle against the miniscule coffee table. Again. He bites down the groan of pain and looks up to find Chris standing in the doorway and watching him. Chris's eyes suddenly fall on the bare skin beneath the opened end of Tom's shirt. 

"Oh, um," stammers Tom self-consciously. He immediately redresses and mentally admonishes himself, first for blushing like a vestal maiden and then for feeling like there's something to hide in the first place.

When he looks up, Chris is preoccupied by the row of ties on his bed, gaze hard set like there's something vile about the different shades of black colored ties. "Are they from the costume department?" 

The question is so unexpected that it takes Tom a few seconds before he realizes what Chris is talking about.

"Yes," answers Tom as he gathers his wits about him, "They're Coulson's ties."

Chris holds up two ties and raises an eyebrow. “Whichever you choose, Coulson’s clothes are a poor suggestion of attire.”

Tom moans frustrated. “It’s not like I have much of an option here, do I?”

Chris drops a tie and takes the other one to Tom. He throws it around Tom’s neck before the English man could think. Breaths catch quietly as Chris twists the knots, his eyes never quite meeting the other’s puzzled gaze. 

Tom, on the other hand, tempers any reaction, knowing full well that at this proximity, anything can be misconstrued. 

“At least they look better on you,” comments Chris offhandedly. And try as Tom might, the butterflies in his stomach perform Olympic somersaults, twisting the look on face into a mixture of awkward uncertainty and delight. 

Chris seems to read Tom’s expression well and quickly explains himself. “I mean, on Clark, they look business-like and square. But on you,” he trails off, swallowing, fingers still holding onto the edge of the tie, “They look …”

“Less polygonal?” 

Chris’s laugh fills the room and touches places inside Tom that makes him feel light-headed and delirious, to be standing so close in the farthest of sense.

“I’m sorry,” says Tom, though he knows there’s nothing to be sorry about. “I didn’t mean to snark. It’s just,”

“This day, huh?”

“Yes, well,” Tom shakes his head and Chris’s hands fall back to his side. “How about you? How do you feel? I mean, Thor _looks like you_. I had the impression that might’ve knocked you off your feet a bit.”

“A bit,” repeats Chris. 

There’s an element of derision to his voice, but Tom can’t be sure. Right now, his senses are befuddled with all kinds of emotion, sapping away any skill he has of clearly reading people. 

“It feels like he’s taking over my life,” continues the Australian softly, looking straight into his co-star’s blue eyes.

Tom feels his breath stop in his throat, heart beating so loud he can hardly hear himself speak. That must be the only reason why he finds the reckless audacity to say, “You’re still my favorite version.”

Because there’s no way he would deliberately say anything to make Chris’s face fall in dead shock like that. His mistake dawns him and Tom feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, his face crimson to the very roots of his hair. He curtly excuses himself and makes a beeline for the door, but not before Chris catches his wrist and pulls him back. 

“Tom -- ” starts Chris but he never gets to finish. 

The door of Chris’s trailer rattles noisily and then a sharp shredding sound rips through the air. Metals clang to floor. Both actors stalk back into the foyer, mouths falling open to find a huge hole where the door used to be. 

And right in the middle of it stood the Warriors Three.

-

"You can't keep doing this," shouts Chris at the warriors as he gestures angrily at the customized opening to his trailer.

The one Chris suspects is Fandral -- who looks nothing like the man who plays him onscreen except for the blonde hair and the shrewd look in his eyes -- steps inside what's left of Chris's temporary home. He walks straight up to Chris with an excited hitch in otherwise smooth footsteps.

"He even has the temper down to a T," observes Fandral with an amused smirk. 

"Fandral, leave the man alone," a disembodied female voice materializes out of the darkness and apposes her rank next to who most likely were Hogun and Volstagg.

"But Lady Sif," Fandral begins to exclaim in protest and then stops when his eyes fall on Tom. He breaks into an even wider smile and slowly approaches the actor, "Sir, in any other realm I would have thought this trickery all your making. You look like the devil himself and yet I am most certain you are not he,"

Tom blinks, speechless.

"I too see his soul," says Hogun sagely in his raspy quiet voice. 

Looking nothing like Asano either, Hogun looks older and like he isn't the type to be baited to travel to lesser worlds like Midgard unless given good reason. He contains his intrigue, keeps a respectable distance when he walks in to peer closer at Tom. Unlike Fandral, he doesn't ogle at the Englishman like a specimen.

"It is warm," 

"Warm?" repeats Tom incredulously, laughter rising, "My soul is warm?"

"It certainly is not the soul of a frost giant is what he means," clarifies Lady Sif, who doesn't look anything like Jaimie at all. 

Sif is striking as Jaimie is beautiful, but not for any reasons other than those that will make any man think twice about propositioning her. Sif's skin is aglow, a stamp of otherworldliness, and her features are hardened by timelessness and war. Her eyes don't shy from marveling at Tom as if looking at a ghost; whether of an enemy or a friend, she seems conflicted.

Chris gets the impression that very little surprise these people and now along comes this. It's a scene straight off the comic books. A fierce band of warriors, medievally dressed in leather and all manner of weaponry hanging from their belts, propping a wall around Tom made of billowing capes and gold plated armor.

Tom seems to take it well, smiling politely at the comparisons thrown further his way.

"You look so much like him it feels strange to see you smile," muses Fandral.

"It's disarming," adds Volstagg.

"He's disarming," corrects Sif emphatically, "I can only imagine what Thor must feel."

The three warriors share a knowing grin amongst themselves. 

"He has allowed many a-crimes by his brother pass without retribution," informs Hogun. 

"The Liesmith is surely talented," interjects Sif, "But I myself am loth to grant him full credit for the fruition of his misdeeds. Thor indulges his kinks far too often,"

"Kinks?" repeats Chris from the corner. He has taken a seat on the edge of the dining table, arms crossed. 

Everyone else turns to him except Tom, whose eyes never leave the floor. A sharp pang of pain hits Chris square through the heart but he schools his features well as Sif elaborates.

"Few things in all the known universes can rattle Thor Odinsson's will once his heart latches onto a whim," Sid turns to Tom meaningfully, "But you dissuaded him of summoning all the nine realms in your honor."

"Well, it seemed exaggerated," defends Tom simply. The warriors laugh heartily, save for Sif who continues, "There are but a few who can oblige Thor to do things other than how he wishes to do them. It seems his fondness for his dear brother is aggrandizing his interest in you,"

Chris watches Tom digest the information, a look of discomfort passing swiftly over the Englishman's face. Chris's heart stops when Tom suddenly catches his gaze, but then he hastily looks away before Chris can say or do anything. 

"I suppose it's time to go," Tom gives the warriors an excited smile, though his eyes don't quite reflect it. He leads the warriors out of Chris's trailer and leaves not one glance in Chris's direction.

-

There's a small bar in the local town near the set. It's almost empty by the time Chris gets there. Chris is on his third pint when he feels long arms winding around his torso, light fingers spreading across the flannel of his shirt. He's not drunk enough to let loose and lash out, but he's not about to let anyone take advantage of him either.

Not today. Not today of all days.

"Bugger off," he says stiffly, bucking off the unwanted intimacy.

On top of everything that has happened today, Chris still manages to act surprised when the arms don't budge an inch. He had the impression they belonged to a sneaky fan.

Hot breath ghosts over Chris's nape and eventually a mouth goes with it, trailing kisses on the tip of Chris's spine.

"It's lonesome to see you like this," the person speaks before Chris can do anything.

He feels his heart stop at the sound of that voice. He'd know that voice anywhere, but facts, vivid as they are in his intoxication, tell him it can't be.

Still, he asks, "Tom?" knowing full well it isn't going to be Tom when he turns around.

He's more surprised that he manages to put things together in his state of mind than he is to find the God of Mischief with his arms wrapped around him.

"Close enough," teases Loki in an entirely different voice, regal and all too frightening.

Chris swallows as he pushes the god away. He looks him up and down. 

There's a lot to be said about how much Loki looks like Tom. Chris can now understand Thor's fascination with his co-star. Jet black hair instead of blonde, cold green eyes where Tom's blue ones usually smile, and something behind the frame, a lurking shadow that suggests something sinister waits in the next breath -- the clearest sign for Chris to believe that this man can never be Tom.

Chris's skin crawls with suspicion and he backs up against the bar, settles for a glare that he hopes carries through solidly. 

Loki chuckles. "Not even a hint of surprise?"

"All your friends are already here. I reckoned it wasn't long before you followed," says Chris flatly.

Loki breaks into a smile that's just a little short of reaching his green eyes.

"I would think you would be more excited, considering..." the god leans further into Chris, fingers pushing beneath the buttons of the man's shirt, "I can give you what you want,"

That about does it for Chris. Blame it on the alcohol or his heartache but whatever the case, he yanks Loki's wrists and violently shoves him back.

"There's nothing you can do to help but leave," hisses Chris. 

His anger dies almost instantly once he realizes his mistake. Loki's eyes eerily sheen and he's back in Chris's face before Chris can even blink.

"Ooh, brutish, I like," Loki's fingers slithers around Chris's neck and he picks him up without a sweat. Chris starts to choke, his hands desperately grappling at Loki's arm. 

"Now, let's go home, shall we?" sneers Loki before he flings Chris across the room in one move.

Chris expects to hit hard wall. 

Instead, he finds himself sitting up on a Victorian chair, dressed in trousers and a long sleeved shirt with ruffles around the cuffs. He looks up just as Loki enters the room dressed in an A-line flower spotted yellow dress, with his hair, now blonde, curled into a shoulder length bob. Except for the green eyes and the belittling sneer, Loki is indistinguishable from Tom. 

Chris closes his eyes and groans into his hands. 

“You need to relax,” suggests Loki as he puts the tray of pastries he’s holding on the coffee table. 

“Where am I?” asks Chris, glancing around the room.

Loki is suddenly on him, grabbing his face forward as he slides into the chair, trapping Chris against it. 

“Where you are is the very least of your worries,” explains Loki as he slips one long and slender leg across Chris’s lap, his long pale fingers threading through blonde hair. “A more imperiling conversation is in order.”

Despite his appearance, Loki proves deadweight when Chris tries to push him off. Thee resistance equaled that of the damned hammer that put him in this wretched situation in the first place. 

Loki notices Chris’s struggles. He heaves himself further onto the human and knocks the breath right out of Chris. Loki chuckles and freely runs his hands across the breadth of Chris’s chest, "It would do you better to not resist. I am, after all, here to help you."

"I - what," Chris stops struggling. "I'm not sure what gave you that impression, but -"

Loki pinches Chris's mouth close with his thumb and forefinger. 

"Do not irk me." orders Loki, eyes blazing with purpose, "And do not attempt to evade the direction to which I mean to steer this conversation."

Loki looks at Chris meaningfully who reluctantly nods in understanding. The god lets Chris's mouth go and pads his palm over the Australian's chest. 

"Now, tell me more about your heartache,"

-

Despite the strangeness of it all, Tom can’t quite find himself in the moment. Things happen by him swiftly, leaving him no time to reflect or gawk at every baffling incident that passes. Which is another strange thing, because he should be distracted by the fact that Fandral has offered to carry him twice now (only to be strongly discouraged by Sif on both accounts).

“I have always been curious," explains Fandral wistfully.

They have been walking in the desert for nearly half an hour now, Tom having to pace himself against the four warriors. The strain in his lower back and legs makes him feel incredibly out of shape. In his defense, he is trying to keep up with superhuman beings.

Then again, Fandral did offer. 

"We are close, Tom Hiddleston," remarks Sif, who has taken it upon herself to bodyguard Tom in the most literal sense. She walks with him shoulder to shoulder, forcing him to keep up with her.

Eventually, they make a stop somewhere in the middle of the desert. Tom refrains himself from panting, straightening his shirt as he looks around. 

“Where are we?” he thinks he has the right to ask as he fingers the knot in his tie. 

He has been picking at it every now and then, thinking about Chris and the way he looked when Tom had let things slip. Tom’s heart sinks every time. There was a reason why he had held his feeling secret for so long and now he’s about to lose Chris over his own recklessness.

The sky suddenly crackled and whirls of cloud and lightning spun overhead. 

“Are you ready?” 

Tom turns his head to see Thor standing beside him. 

“You look handsome,” adds the god. 

Tom smiles in reply, “I didn’t really know what to wear since I wasn’t sure where we were going.” 

Thor points to the sky with his hammer and then beckons at Tom. Instinctively, Tom recoils and looks warily between the warriors and their king. 

“Don’t you trust me, Tom?” asks Thor. 

Tom stares into blue eyes, and for a brief second, he wishes he were looking at Chris. The face is there, but the man isn’t. Tom releases the breath he’s holding and delicately instructs his features with the great skill of his profession. He smiles at the god reassuringly. 

“Of course,” 

Thor wraps an arm around Tom’s waist, pulls him into an embrace that compels Tom to look up at the god as he begins to lift them off the ground. Tom startles for a moment to find his feet no longer touching the earth, but he composes himself when Thor clutches him even tighter. 

Tom gazes at the long drop below and leans his head against Thor’s armor, not denying himself another fantasy that it was Chris instead.

-

“I have a wife, you know.”

In the course of 24 hours, Chris finds his sense of reality nearly in pieces. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been travelling dimensions, or if he’s ever going to escape Loki’s web of illusions. 

Right now, they’re in Tokyo driving down the highway with Loki behind the wheel. Chris is wary of making the god irritable lest he decides to crash the car, but Loki isn’t exactly making it easy. 

“Say it with more conviction next time and I might just believe the fact is actually relevant to the situation.”

Chris’s features cloud with spite and guilt, but most of all with the heartache that Loki is forcing him to confront. 

“He doesn’t want me,” The flush of defeat in Chris’s voice resonates so evidently that Loki’s eyes leave the road to turn to him. Chris doesn’t have enough time to react, never mind warn the god, as they cross an intersection and smash into a suburban at full maniac god speed. 

When Chris comes to, they’re in an apothecary, both dressed in 17th century English breeches. Loki’s hair is dark again, bundled up in a ponytail that leaves his face clear and glowing in the stream of sunlight. If Chris weren’t so antagonized by the god, he thinks he can easily warm to Loki’s beauty. 

“How do you know?”

“Know what?” 

Chris sits on a nearby stool while Loki leans on a beam and watches him. 

“How do you know he doesn’t want you?”

Chris breathes deeply and clasps his hands. He sees Tom’s face in his head, Tom’s eyes denying him a look before he disappeared with the Warriors Three.

“He’s not here, isn’t he? He has made his choice.” spits Chris bitterly.

Water with the temperature of a winter washes over Chris’s head. He scrambles to get out but he realizes his hands are bound behind his back and there’s a firm hand on his neck that’s keeping his head submerged. 

He thrashes around for his life, but to no avail. Water washes up his nose, his sinus stinging as cold water surges down his lungs. Just when he thinks it’s going to be the end of him, the hand on his nape yanks him out of the water. He stumbles backwards, wheezing desperately for air, his hands now free to break his fall when he hits the floor.

Loki is standing beside a water tank, dressed in desert cammies and a shirt with the letters USMC printed on the breast. He looks progressively unimpressed at Chris. 

Chris sees that he’s dressed the same, except his uniform is drenched through. He coughs violently. 

“What the fuck, Loki?” 

“What the fuck, indeed,” repeats Loki, his voice rising. 

The room changes around them once more, velvet curtains falling around the windows and gold damask bleeding into the walls. Loki shifts, black back to golden curls, camouflage uniform into a black suit. He leaves no detail unchanged except for the angry green eyes flashing at Chris. 

“You humans are a curious, pathetic lot.” Loki says in Tom voice.

Chris trembles and begs, “Stop that. Please.”

“Do you know what gods do when they fall in love?” continues Loki as he slowly approaches Chris who backs up from the likeness; he is threatened more now by the god’s form than he has ever been at any other point in their journey. 

Loki is relentless, however. 

“They wage war. Nothing is spared. Worlds are obliterated, families torn apart. Nothing is ever enough for love,” 

He may be using Tom’s voice but Loki’s words reverberate with something arcane, a profound sincerity springing from the length of an eternal life Chris can’t bring himself to imagine. 

Sadness briefly reflects in those green eyes as Loki gently cradles Chris’s face with one hand. “But you, all you have to do is say how you feel. You have but one life, and so short. One heart, and so scared.”

Then, Loki’s green eyes, the last of Chris’s defenses, suddenly flicker blue. Chris gasps and tries to turn away. But the God of Mischief would have none of it, catching Chris’s head with his other hand and capturing his lips in a fervent kiss. 

Chris moans in protest. 

“Don’t fight it,” coaxes Loki as Tom in every aspect now. 

Chris is too distracted, haunted by the mirage, that he fails to realize it until Loki has him pinned down on the mattress. Chris struggles but he is no match for Loki, who straddles Chris and buries his face into his neck nipping the skin beneath Chris’s ear. 

“Stop,” says Chris weakly. 

Loki’s curls brush Chris’s cheeks and it’s hard not to think of Tom; that the man in his arms can be, is - _actually_ is Tom. 

“I want you, Chris,” purrs the impostor, and Chris almost fails to make the distinction anymore. “I want you, baby, I want you _everywhere_ ,” 

Loki starts to grind down on Chris’s crotch. The surge of pleasure rattles Chris’s better reason, and absconds any remaining reluctance he might have. 

“I want you _inside_ ,” Loki presses his ass down on Chris’s hardening cock at his own words and Chris gasps and groans, fingers gripping blonde curls. 

Then, Chris’s eyes blink open to meet a flash of green. Something clicks inside him, like the latch of a floodgate. He comes to his senses and pushes Loki off. 

“You treacherous liar,” fumes Chris, jumping off the bed in rage. 

“Oh, I’m the liar now?” challenges Loki, laughter rising in his own voice now, “What are you going to do about it? There’s nothing to go back to now,”

“What are you talking about? Bring me back. I have work in the morning.” demands Chris. 

Loki slides to his feet and shrugs nonchalantly. “I was planning to do that anyway, and not any second sooner either. There’s that matter of my brother’s wedding to attend and our mother would strangle me if I arrived late.”

Chris stares in surprise, mouth dry.

“Wedding?”

Loki’s lips slowly spread into a wide smile as fear coils around Chris's heart.

“To Tom, of course,” says Loki simply.

Chris’s jaws fall slack. “What?”

“Well, what did you think when Thor said he was going to reward Tom? It was more than a simple accident that Tom lifted Mjolnir, Chris. A prophecy was fulfilled -- ‘ _Whomsoever returns the hammer of Thor, gains his hand in marriage,_ ” 

“Bollocks,” spits Chris, his hands fisting. “You’re lying.”

“And what would I gain in lying about this, hmm?” smirks Loki. 

A determined storm brews under Chris's brow and he feels clearly in his heart what he wants and what he needs to do. Whatever the outcome may be, whether Loki is spinning a web of lies or not, he has to get to Tom.

"There's a portal north of here, in the desert. It's quite easy to find, just follow the North Star," Loki directs all of a sudden. 

They're back in Chris's trailer, the wind blowing through the large gap where the front door used to be. 

"When you get there, call out to Heimdall and tell him Prince Loki sent you. Tell him to open the Bifrost so that you might enter Asgard."

Chris stares at Loki, and takes him in as he is - back in his Aesir form, dark black hair, green eyes, porcelain. He wonders idly if Loki is capable of blushing, if he's capable of love and feelings other than sneering spite, if his cheeks ever color in heat, if there's anything in those green eyes besides anger and longing.

"What are you waiting for?" snaps Loki.

Chris nods in thanks before tearing into the night.

-

From the moment they step on to the rainbow bridge, all the way to the feasting hall in the grand palace, an entourage follows them, marching choruses and a shower of flowers the harbingers of every step. A horn section, which fills the entire palace hall, receives them and for the first time, the reality of it all hits Tom. 

"Has everyone in your kingdom come to see you?" asks Tom.

"Me? They've come to see you." 

Tom makes a tiny sound of embarrassed exasperation and bites his lips. 

"I don’t understand,"

Thor grins cheekily and Tom realizes the god is teasing him. 

"Hardly everyone. The All-Father and Mother are on a diplomatic trip to Álfheimr, but they send you their love, Tom Hiddleston, and hope that you stay long enough so they can have the honor of meeting you," 

Tom swallows and begins to say uncertainly, "Thor, I can't -"

Before Tom can finish what he’s trying to say, a throng of Aesir women swarm him and begin pulling him way. In retrospect, Tom will never admit to the part where he tried to grab Thor’s arm.

“Thor!” 

“Do not worry, Mr. Hiddleston,” assures one of the women as they carry him away. “We will bring you back, spotless and new, in time for the feast,”

Tom soon finds out what’s in store for him when the women push him into a bathing chamber. They use his surprise to their advantage as they start to disrobe him. 

“Ladies, please!” protests Tom as he tries to hold on to his undergarments. 

Time doesn’t stop exactly, not the way Tom wishes it would. But when he topples accidentally into the pool behind him, he welcomes the brief respite nonetheless.

His heartbeat drums in his ears. In the few seconds he steals for himself, he remembers the last time he was in a pool: during pre-prod, in the heat of a summer weekend, with Chris swimming laps next to him. 

It had been Chris's idea to break from their usual routine. Tom wasn't as agile on water than he was on land, but he didn't think the man from the desert outback stood a chance against him. 

Chris proved him wrong and by the end of it, Chris had to pull Tom out, big arms sliding around him, and the two men laughed as they lay on the tiles in their exhaustion. 

Tom remembers the feeling of having Chris's hand over his chest and dreading the moment Chris removed it. But Chris didn't, not for a long time, and Tom remembers thinking that was the closest he was ever going to get.

As Tom drifts quietly, he feels a firm grip around his wrists. Before he knows it, he is being pulled up. 

He takes a gulp of air when he gets to the top, the hand that lifted him turning into an arm pulling him against ... Thor.

A misplaced feeling of de ja vu passes as Tom blinks and shakes the water out of his hair.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly upon realizing he'd drenched his host in the process.

Thor amusedly wipes the water from his cheeks. "A small trouble, considering I have nearly half my body to dry."

"Oh shit," curses Tom as he straightens ups and sees that Thor's clothes are soaked through. He also sees how naked he is and quickly wraps his arms around himself.

Thor, bless him, kindly throws his cape over Tom.

"Thank you," mutters Tom sincerely. 

Thor doesn't say anything, merely gazes steadily at Tom. Tom turns his attention elsewhere and notices for the first time that they're alone.

"I dismissed them. I apologize if they frightened you - it is customary, you see. You should have seen what they did to the Vannaheimr princess who accompanied me home one time."

Tom doesn't know what to say to the comparison so he resorts to a small smile of thanks. 

He doesn't get any of his clothes back so he wanders after Thor through the palace halls clutching the cloak around him for dear life. Thankfully, they are heading to a part of the palace that is deserted and quiet. 

With more or less everyone at the feast, Tom relishes the liberty to gape in wonder at the stupendous architecture of the palace. 

Everything is as magnificent as they were in his childhood stories.

The widest halls Tom has ever seen in his life, ceilings that seemed to rise out of sight, columns the size of buildings, golden drapes falling over walls of ivory – Tom realizes for the first time how brilliant it is to simply be here, a mortal and a modern man in the home of the gods.

No one would ever believe him. 

"In here," Thor stops in front of a large chamber and pushes back the golden steel door effortlessly .

Tom will never forget what he sees in that room his whole life.

The most beautiful collection of books, dating back millennia, fills the wall shelves from floor to ceiling. It is arguably the most enchanting room Tom has ever been in. His delight escalates when he finds out that there’s an entire section on human history. Tom can’t stop his hands from shaking as he touches spines of several Greek classics, bound from manuscripts that Tom is certain are as old as their texts. 

“This is Loki’s room. As you can see, he is quite the scholar,” explains Thor, clearly pleased at Tom’s wonderment.

“Quite the scholar,” repeats Tom in disbelief. “These are fantastic. A whole room full of literature and what must be all the knowledge in the universe!”

“This is my brother’s great love,” Thor sounds poignant. 

When Tom turns to him, he finds a distant look in the god’s eyes, a mixture of marvel and fondness. Tom grips the cloak around him tighter as he approaches the god. He offers a comforting touch, which seems to snap Thor’s attention back to him. 

“Odin might not agree with me -- I can never imagine my brother growing up in Jotunheim either. But, sometimes, I do wonder if he would have fared better elsewhere, rather than here in Asgard. Our war mongering and bloodlust twisted him into such resentment and hatefulness. What might have become of him if he lived a more peaceful kingdom, in a world that flourished in wisdom of thought and heart instead of war and death?”

Tom doesn’t quite know what to say, the hand he has on Thor’s arm moving slow and unsure of what comfort he can provide. 

“It has all been done, though,” concludes Thor hastily.

Tom searches the god’s face intensely before asking, “You miss him a lot, don’t you?”

Thor is once more startled from his reverie. With a soft smile, he says clearly, “There are no words.”

“Woe is love unmade,” says Tom in understanding. 

Thor laughs lightly. “You remind me of him. I hope you understand. I do not intend to reduce your person to his mere mirror. I suppose your interest in knowledge only serves to compound this delusion of mine.”

Tom holds his breath and says sincerely, “It would be an honor, if I can be half as important as he is to you.” 

Something changes in Thor’s demeanor at Tom’s words. His eyes darken and he suddenly towers over Tom. The Englishman swallows and backs up, only to be trapped between the bookshelves and Thor.

“Your words tempt me, whether you mean them to or not, Tom Hiddleston. Be careful. I am not a god known best for my restraint,” 

There is no trace of actual threat in Thor’s voice; if anything, he sounds almost pleading. It’s clear as day what Thor is trying to say. 

Thor’s ocean blue eyes blaze with lust; the heat rolling off him feels simply electric. Tom would be ten times the liar Loki is if he denies how every fiber in his body is straining to close the distance, to give in to the attraction that is keeping him rooted there, in fear and in suspense. 

It’s no longer mere curiosity. 

It’s plain as day what it is that Tom sees reflected in Thor’s eyes. His own desires and hopes, manifesting, to be the object of the same hunger that Thor feels for Loki, the same passion Tom painfully longs to gain from Chris. 

The weight inside Tom is enormous, a rage of emotions nearly splitting him in half when Thor leans his head against Tom’s, their lips grazing.

“Do you judge me for what I ask you, knowing I do so because you are the closest promise I have of fulfillment? Do you think evil of me for wanting my brother in such manner, that I am desperate for your substitute?” 

Thor breathes every word against Tom’s cheek, the Englishman shuddering in response.

Tom trembles when he replies ironically, “You are as contemptible as I am pathetic to fall in love with a married man,”

The cape slides off Tom’s body when Thor catches his lips breathlessly, the god’s large arms lifting Tom by his waist with ease. Tom wraps his long legs around the Norse god and holds his face with shaking hands. 

All the while he deceives his heart that this must be what Chris would feel like. 

Thor growls and presses himself against Tom, whose humble remaining garment of decency doesn’t spare him the feeling of Thor’s hardened cock against his hip. Tom pulls back gasping for air, heart wild with lust. 

The delirium doesn’t last. 

Tom doesn’t know what it is exactly that makes his heart stand still. But as he throws his head back, his long pale neck offered like a canvas for Thor’s ravenous mouth, the wall of books quietly witnessing their liaison, Tom feels something visceral switch off inside him. 

It’s small and fragile. It’s small, but the emptiness it resonates sickens Tom to his very essence. 

Tom pushes a hand between their bodies.

“Wait,” he pants. 

For a person who admits to lacking self-control, Thor stops his ministrations and looks at Tom where he is suspended in Thor’s arms. 

Tom swallows thickly. He cups the god’s face gingerly, fingers reaching around to brush golden strands behind pinkish ears. 

“Is there something wrong?” asks Thor. 

Tom laughs quietly, unable to find the courage still. Thor smiles warmly at him, eyes blue with profound understanding. 

“I’m not him – I can’t be him, can I?”

Tom chuckles sadly, half surprised. He mouths a soundless ‘no’. 

Thor puts him down on the ground and Tom straightens himself. He declares ruefully, “I must be insane. You’re Thor! You’re a god!”

Thor tips Tom’s chin to meet his eyes and he murmurs, “And even then, I’m not good enough.” 

Tom chokes with emotions, his sadness immediately filling that void that opened up only moments before. The faintest stirring of regret rings through him, but their cause is unheeded. 

Thor bends down to pick up his cape and presses Tom’s hand to his lips. 

“You’ve been a gracious guest, Tom Hiddleston. You will always be welcome here at Asgard. I am afraid I haven’t accorded you the same grace and character that you have shown me. I apologize. I have been far too imposing.”

“Not at all, Thor,” denies Tom. “This is more than I could have ever asked. In another life, maybe.”

Thor touches Tom’s face. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t believe it’s this life,”

It takes Tom a while before he understands what Thor is trying to tell him. But before he can say or ask any thing back, the god begins leading him towards Loki’s sleeping quarters. 

“Now, come. Let us clothe you so we can send you home with your dignity intact.”

For the first time in centuries, the sullen quietness of Loki’s old room is broken by the clear and warm bell of Tom’s laughter.

-  
Chris wanders around the desert for a few minutes before he sees the swirling column of light and dust in a distance. 

Loki at least wasn't lying when he said the portal was easy to find. 

It’s a dust storm caged in stripes of lightning. Chris finds it remarkable that something like that managed to escape attention. But the desert is empty, no helicopters and weather station vans roaming around, and certainly no classified government agency snooping at the helm.

For the absence of such circus, Chris is grateful.

When he gets to the portal, he is winded from exhaustion. He can barely see with his arm covering more than half of his face, eyes squinted against the dust swirl.

"Heimdall!" he barely gets the entire name out before he chokes on a mouthful of sand. He coughs manically and tries again. Nothing happens. Chris realizes that he might have to plunge inside the column. 

Heart pounding like thunder, he charges the electric dust swirl with all the courage he can find, only to run into something solid and come out stumbling on the other side with Tom in his arms.

They fall head first onto the ground, Chris's reflexes reaching around Tom's head to protect him as they pummel to the earth. 

The ground beneath them shakes as the dust swirl reverts back into the sky, a furious crackle of lightning striking the air one last time before disappearing into the early morning dawn.

As silence falls around the desert, Chris and Tom stir to find themselves flushed in the same position they were yesterday morning. The horizon yellows around them, the light of the new day pushing back the evening as if it had all been a dream.

But it wasn’t. 

That fact is clear when Chris pushes himself up and sees Tom dressed in a golden tunic, cotton pants around his waist and leather breeches on his feet. 

"Ah fuck. My back," groans Tom.

Chris helps him sit up and looks for damages. Tom's tunic had ripped from the fall, but other than that, no wounds or injuries. At least none on the surface.

"Are you all right?" 

Tom blinks at Chris, his mind only beginning to adjust. He tries to get up but pain shoots up his left shoulder.

"Shit," Tom reaches for it at the same time Chris does. Their hands collide. Chris grabs Tom's hand and he turns it over, touching Tom's bare ring finger in a moment of dizzying relief.

"You didn't get married?" blurts out Chris, looking up to find a flabbergasted look on the Englishman's face. 

Almost immediately, the stupidity of Chris's question, his audacity to even ask it and how he erred in taking Loki's word, fall on him like a wheelbarrow of mjolnirs. 

"Of course you didn't get married," Chris angrily answers his own question. He gets up on his feet and kicks at the sand. If gods weren't gods, he thinks murderously.

"Married? Chris," Tom is scrambling to his feet. "What are you talking about? What marriage?"

Chris turns around but he won't meet Tom's gaze. Chris mumbles wild apologies, "I was out of line - shouldn't have even asked - to even think – I had no right - "

Chris looks at Tom and he can almost see the cobs in the man’s head turning wildly, those blue eyes sheening with clarity.

“You thought I married Thor?” asks Tom, calm and calculated. 

“Tom – I –” 

“Why did you come here, to the portal?” Tom steps closer to the Australian, who feels like he has forgotten how to move, never mind breathe. 

There’s an intense searching look on the Englishman’s face. 

Chris hasn’t felt like this in a long while, like he’s determined to prove himself. His eyes trail Tom’s tongue as the man wets his lips, waiting for Chris to say something. Chris feels the action singe his gut, and an old desire bolsters his urge to come clean. 

“For you,” he finally admits, “I came for you.”

Something changes in Tom’s face. Chris thinks it’s the way the sunlight hits his eyes, but he doesn’t spare another second on the thought as he sinks into the fervent kiss Tom lays on him. 

“How long? Why didn’t you tell me?” gasps Tom when they pull apart, his fingers threading through Chris’s hair. Blue eyes smile wonderingly at Chris, warming his soul in ways that not even the tight embrace he pulls around Tom’s waist can match. 

“You’ve always been the more articulate one,” excuses Chris, kissing Tom and smiling at him intermittently. 

“Yet you seem to be doing pretty well just now,” laughs Tom and Chris decides he likes the feeling of Tom vibrating with mirth against his own body. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this but it took a hammer to knock some sense into me,”

Tom’s eyes crinkle, the sound of his laughter lighting a permanent flame in Chris’s heart. They stand holding each other for a while, unaware of heavenly bodies literally smiling down on them. 

Back in Asgard, Thor finds his brother inside the Bifrost watching the fruits of their labor. Heimdall stands quietly on his dais as the God of Thunder walks up to the God of Mischief. 

“This act of trouble is not quite up to standard, brother,” says Thor.

Loki glances briefly at him and Thor takes his cue to continue, “Throwing Mjolnir into Midgard to aide the fulfillment of incarnates and involving no permanent injuries to anyone – even for you, this seems like a splendid act of kindness.”

The dark haired god turns to his brother as Thor touches the armor on Loki’s arm and asks in a low murmur, “Why?”

“I fancied a thought,” answers Loki simply.

“Which was?”

“A simple curiosity,” Loki begins walking towards the exit. His brother’s heavy footsteps follow beside him. “Just because it doesn’t work in our world, doesn’t mean it can’t elsewhere,” 

Loki feels Thor’s hand on the small of his back. He stops in his tracks and stiffens as Thor turns him around to face him. They stare at each other. Loki tears away to look down when he feels fingers around his, the handle of Mjolnir trapped in between. 

“If you’re talking about love, Loki,” says Thor warmly, “I think it works here just fine.”

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to babysockpuppets for the prompt. Thank you Mara for the beta and for sitting with me in the cold Archaeology stairwell all those rainy days while I wrote this. I miss you so much. This for you, Janine.


End file.
